One
The dark wood moaned—a deep, eerie sound that was more than just the groan of shifting tree limbs. I turned, and my empty basket swung in the crook of my right elbow as I stared into the wooded expanse that enclosed most of Oakvale. My breath hovered in front of my face in a little white cloud. It was always chilly near the woods, even in the height of summer, but on a clear winter day like today, just staring into the unnatural darkness was enough to send a fresh chill skittering up my spine.
To my right, a torch crackled, its flame flickering at the top of a post driven deep into the frozen ground. Beyond that, another torch glowed a few feet away, and beyond that, yet another. There were hundreds of them forming a ring around the village, a protective halo of light that the village watch kept burning at all hours. In all weather.
Because the woods were full of monsters, and monsters were afraid of light.
My delivery to the Bertrand cottage hadn’t required me to go near the forest. Still, on my way home I’d found myself drawn toward the trees, walking the outer perimeter of the village, beyond the pasture and the fallow fields instead of taking the shorter path straight through. Ever since I was a small child, the dark wood had called to me, its eerie voice half seduction, half warning. I had no intention of answering. Yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself from listening.
A slithering came from deep within the forest, accompanied by the dry rattle of skeletal branches. Then I heard my name, a soft plea carried on a cold breeze from the depths of the woods.
Adele. Help me.
An old ache gripped me. That was my father’s voice.
My father had died eight years before. I knew that wasn’t him calling from the forest, but knowing that didn’t make the voice any easier to ignore.
Unsettled, I turned away from the trees to head home, suddenly aware of how long my circuitous detour had taken, and as I crossed the empty pasture, I heard footsteps at my back.
“Adele.”
Startled, I spun to find Grainger Colbert behind me. I couldn’t resist a smile. His grin developed more slowly as he closed the distance between us, his blue-eyed gaze studying me. I could feel my face flushing from his attention. He looked handsome in his leather vest and boots, his sword hanging from a scabbard at his waist, and the knowledge that he had eyes only for me made a delicious warmth blossom in the pit of my stomach to chase away the chill of the day. Of the forest.
He reached out to tug playfully at the hem of my worn brown cloak. “Making deliveries?”
“I’ve just finished.”
“Then you might have a moment to talk?”
In my dreams, I had all day to talk to him. All night. But today . . . “Maybe one moment. Tonight’s the full moon, so—”
“You’re going into the dark wood again?” His smile faded into a look of concern.
“I’ll be with my mother. Gran depends upon our deliveries.”
He stepped closer, staring down into my eyes, making my pulse race. “Your grandmother should come stay in the village. It makes no sense for anyone to live alone out there, much less a woman of her age.”
“I’ve been telling her that for years. Maybe today she’ll listen.” But I had no real hope of that. My grandmother had lived alone in the dark wood since before I was born, surviving by rarely venturing far from the clearing where her cabin sat—an island of daylight in a sea of shadows.
It was the journey that held most of the danger.
“It isn’t safe in the woods for two women alone.” Grainger leaned closer and gave my cloak another little tug, his nose brushing my hair as he whispered, “When we’re married, I shall accompany you, if you insist upon visiting your grandmother out there.”
My pulse raced so fiercely I was certain he could hear it. “You would come with me?”
His hand went to the pommel of his sword. “The village watch protects all of Oakvale.” And when his father retired, someday, Grainger would be the head of the watch. “Do you think I would do any less for my own wife?”
Wife. The thought drew my lips into another smile as I gazed up at him. I’d been in love with him since I was twelve years old, when he’d run off the Thayer brothers, who had cornered me behind the mill and were taunting me about my red hair. Grainger had said my hair was beautiful. Then he’d stolen a kiss and sworn that someday he would marry me.
Since then, he’d been a constant fixture at my side, sweetly eager to make his claim known, even though no one had challenged him for my affection. And yet, that little thrill had not begun to fade with familiarity. It sparked anew between us every time his hand brushed mine or his gaze settled on me. Every time he stole a kiss . . .
“It’s been a month since I asked for your hand. I must admit, I’d hoped to have an answer by now.”
“And I’d hoped to give you one.” I pulled my cloak tighter against the cold. “Yet every time I try to talk to my mother, she’s too busy to speak on the matter.”
“I will ask my father to press the issue.”
“No, don’t.” Though she’d always been gracious to him, and he to her, my mother was privately wary of the head of the watch. She’d never said why, exactly, but I’d always suspected it had to do with my father’s death. “I’ll talk to her on our way to Gran’s cabin. She won’t be able to avoid the subject, when there’s only the two of us.”
Grainger nodded. “You’ll both be careful out there?”
“And we won’t veer from the path. Or stop. It isn’t our first trip into the dark wood.” I rose onto my toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “And if you come by later tonight, I’ll recount our entire adventure for you. It will be as if you were right there with me.”
“I look forward to that.” He caught me around the waist before I could drop back onto my heels, and he claimed a kiss boldly from my lips. “I’ve just finished maintaining the torches, and I’ll be on patrol until dusk, hoping to lay eyes on the fox that stole one of Madame Girard’s eggs. Expect me once the sun has gone down.”
“You checked the torches alone?”
When I was born, the unnatural forest had only bordered two-thirds of our tiny village, but in the sixteen years since, it had swelled to surround Oakvale entirely, except where the river formed the northern border. Which meant there were many more torches to maintain now than there were when Grainger’s father took over the village watch, when we were little.
That task seemed impossibly large for one man.
“No, I was only responsible for the east half of the halo. Yet that still took all morning.”
“Did you hear anything from the woods?” He wouldn’t have been able to see more than a few feet into the forest, but the dark wood was rarely quiet.
“Just howls and snorts today. The deep, angry kind, as if a bull were about to charge from the darkness.” Grainger knew that wouldn’t happen, thanks to the torches, yet the thought obviously made him uncomfortable. “But a couple of days ago, I heard my uncle call out.”
Rufus Colbert had been a member of the watch, like his brother and nephew. But he died two years ago.
“I know it isn’t real,” he continued, his frown deepening. “Yet it gives me chills every time.”